Triad of Ridiculousness: Part One

My stories of awkward hilarity are starting to backlog, but I want to start on today's occurrences (it was nonstop!) while they're somewhat fresh in my memory.  So I hope you enjoy the Triad of Ridiculousness, which includes this post and the next two.

That Damn Magazine!

One awkward part of my otherwise insanely awesome job is the calls I get when people want to cancel subscriptions.  I've since quit asking for reasons, but usually they volunteer the information anyway probably from the expectation that I'll ask.  Today I got one of those calls, and I'm so happy I wasn't around to answer the phone.  The voicemail went like this:

"Hi, Amy.  My name is Mrs. blah. My husband, blah, has been dead since February.  Will you please stop sending that damn magazine?!" *click*

Like any normal person would, I have some problems with this message.  First, if you're a stranger and plan on leaving me a crazy voicemail, don't include my name.  We're not on a first-name basis, and you creep me out. 

My second issue pertains the vagueness of the message.  I took out the names and replaced them with "blah" for a reason.  Of course, I'm not going to identify anyone, but I couldn't give you the names if I wanted to.  The person did not announciate clearly or spell the it out for me.

Now, not only do I not have a name, I don't have any sort of address or contact information to search by.  I can't call back this woman to get the information I need to cancel their subscription because she was a jerk and hung up without leaving a phone number.

Third problem:  we publish seven magazines.  That Damn Magazine is not one of them.

Forth problem:  we never got a letter from those people who send notices to businesses when someone dies.  Oh...really?  Oh yeah, that is right.  Those people don't exist.  I just made that thing up right now.  Really?  Usually the family notifies us that they don't need the magazine anymore?  Oh yeah, that sounds right.  They're usually not jerks about it? That's good.  Being a jerk about it would put me in an uncomfortable situation, even though I have no ill-intentions or control over her problem (I'm not all-knowing...yet!).

Of course I'm sorry for her loss, but it should be obvious that there's no way I can be aware of her situation unless she notifies me somehow. It's not like I sit at my desk all day and mail magazines to dead people while laughing evilly.

Here's the "sucky" part:  this problem isn't even over.  This very awkward voicemail got me (and her) nowhere, and next month I'll be getting another phone call.  She will likely be more mad next time around.  Awesome. 

Did some good come out of this?  Yes.  I got to forward the message to my coworkers, which resulted in a few laughs.  Am I going to hell if it in some form exists?  Likely.  But maybe my knowledge of voicemail etiquette will lead to at least some minor success there.

 Laterrrrrrsssssss!
-Amy